Friday, July 2, 2021

And so my Frost Place idyll is over for yet another season. Except for the Zoom tedium--and except for a sudden tragedy in the life of one of our participants, which has surely shadowed memories of the experience for the rest of us--the conference could hardly have gone better. And Teresa's generative writing workshop was a revelation, and now my notebook is stuffed full of drafts: six or seven rich possibilities sketched out in just a day and a half. What a gift.

I'll be crashing today, for sure. Not only do I have teaching fatigue but the damn cat outdid himself in mayhem last night. I didn't get much sleep after 1 a.m., thanks to his cavorting.

But we have rain--a long, slow, quenching rain; and though I need to grocery-shop and I ought to go to my exercise class and and and and, I'm going to start my day by curling up in the crook of the couch, by mulling over what I wrote yesterday, and maybe I'll dream my way forward into the poem's next room.

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